


On Melancholy Hill

by spaghettideviant



Series: Plastic Beach [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:30:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaghettideviant/pseuds/spaghettideviant
Summary: Hank Anderson starts work at the circus, catching glimpses of the big top’s headlining contortionist, Eights.





	On Melancholy Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This started as a thread on twitter. Find me there if you want to scream about the circus. @cannibalspaghet
> 
> Also if you're Russian, please let me know if I've done anything wrong(?) I have never met anyone from Russia, and don't live anywhere near there, so the way the triplets behave could be totally wrong and I would have no idea. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING- One character is a mime, who juggles and usually does harlequin-esque makeup. Read with caution if clowns aren't your jam. Enjoy.

2019

Sunlight glimmers through the windshield of Hank’s beat up Buick, hurting his eyes as he puts the car in park. He lets Sumo out of the front seat, watching the St. Bernard stretch out his legs and shake his massive body. Opening the trunk, Hank pulls out his suitcase. It’s small, full of only the bare essentials. Clothes, shampoo, toothpaste, his toothbrush. Things for Sumo, and one small, crumpled photograph hidden beneath piles of folded laundry.

As instructed, he locks the car, throwing the tarp on top of it.

He peers around at the rest of the cars, all covered with the same material, as he hooks a leash to Sumo’s harness. Hank fumbles with his keys and his bag, situating them in his arms before pulling Sumo’s leash, guiding the large dog into the forest.

If he’s honest, Hank’s a little nervous. He’s never taken a job like this before. Sure, he’s used to this kind of work, but the prospect of travelling kind of scares him. He hopes that Sumo will be able to adjust to the change of pace, of scenery. 

It will be good for both of them. Hank’s tired of feeling sad all the time, and he knows that Sumo is, too. He can always tell when his dog is upset, and Sumo’s been in a funk for a few years, now. 

Change is good. They need to try something new.

The path in the forest is bright, despite the thick patches of greenery. Part of Hank is worried about leaving his car in a lot for this long, but most of him knows that no one would ever try to steal his piece of shit car. 

Sumo barks when they get closer to the train tracks. He must hear the people bustling around it. Sumo is well behaved, but he’s never been around this many people before. It’ll be hard for him to adjust to the new environment, but Hank has faith in him. He reaches down to pat Sumo’s head as they step over the tracks.

They lead to the train itself, unmoving Hank presses his hand against the wood of the last car, running his hands over the letters painted on the grain. 

Cirque.

Hank’s heart picks up as he starts to hear the people, too, holding Sumo’s leash a little tighter. He repeats the instructions over and over in his head.  _ 8:00 am. Red tent. _

It’s off-putting, to be in the midst of chaos. People bustle around him, dragging crates or chasing each other. Some fight, some laugh, others give Hank strange looks, wondering who he is, what he’s doing here.

He makes his way to a path, lined with thirty or forty small tents. Eventually, he spies the red ones lining the end of the path in a neat semi-circle. His eyes dart between them, trying to spot the sign that says ‘office.’

Taking a deep breath, Hank holds open the flap, allowing Sumo to trek through before him.

The office is cluttered, filled with papers and boxes. It’s a small tent with a large desk at the back, three chairs, all different shapes and sizes, are scattered on the other side, with two smaller chairs in front. A woman sits in one of the chairs on the other side, rummaging through paperwork. She pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Hank?”

Hank nods, sliding down into a chair and keeping Sumo’s leash pulled tight. “Yeah. You must be Tina.”

“I am!” She shakes his hand, smiling wide. Her eyes, angled, spot Sumo, making her jump. “Ah, Chris told me you had a dog.”

“This is Sumo.”

She nods cautiously, and Hank can’t really blame her. Sumo’s a big dog. Tina sorts through the papers, one hand buried deep in the pocket of her hoodie. She’s cold. “Okay, I have some forms for you to sign before we can get started.” She smiles softly, pushing some papers and a pen over to Hank. “It’s a liability waiver, mostly. You can look over it, if you’d like.”

Shrugging, Hank signs his name before sliding it back to her. “It’s probably fine.”

“Alright!” Tina stands, knocking over one of the other chairs and cursing to herself. “I’ll show you around, then.” She still smiles, even when Sumo sniffs her feet, making her shiver. “Chris told us great things about you. We’re happy to have you here.”

Hank smiles back, pulling on Sumo’s leash again. “I’m happy to be here.”

She holds open the tent for him, letting him through before she steps through behind him, placing her hands on her hips. She nods to his bag. “You can set that here, if you’d like.”

He does, then follows her through two of the red tents towards the big top. They walk behind it, pushing past people to get to the train. A small set of stables are set up around some of the trains cars, all keeping animals pinned. Horses, goats, chickens.

“You are about to make my job so much easier.” She pats Hank’s shoulder. “All of the animal caretakers we have are volunteers, usually college kids from each town we visit. They’re great workers, but that leaves us with no caretaking staff while we travel.” Tina bends down to pat one of the goats on the head, nodding to herself. “The show animals are usually cared for by their human counterpart, or whoever uses them in their act. But, that leaves the petting zoo unattended. I can’t expect the performers to know how to bathe a chicken, can I?”

Hank shrugs. “Maybe not.”

“Your job with us, is basically a glorified manager. You’ll take care of these little guys while we’re traveling, and when we’re stopped to perform, you’ll be in charge of the volunteers.”

Hank nods, letting Sumo sniff one of the chickens. He looks over at the five or six horses, all feeding. “I’ve worked with horses before, but I’m not sure about your other show animals?”

Tina laughs. “Oh, well I don’t expect you to do anything with them. You can care for the horses, but I doubt you know how to help an elephant. Don’t get me wrong, your veterinary experience is astonishing, but I don’t know you well enough to let you work with the animals that actually bring in an audience.”

“Well, yeah, I’ve never seen an elephant outside of a zoo.” Hank laughs, too. “But, I’ll help where I can.”

“I’m sure the performers will appreciate that.” There’s a yelp from inside one of the train cars, and Tina calls out to it. “Hey, come meet the new vet.”

A man drops out of the car, and Hank blinks. His bare torso is covered in sweat and old scars. He smiles, reaching out to shake Hank’s hand. His eyes are confusing, one green, one blue. “Hey, I’m Markus.”

“Hank,” Markus glances at the dog, so Hank adds, “That’s Sumo. You can pet him.” Markus drops to his knees, letting Sumo shower him with kisses.

Tina rolls her eyes, staying focused. “Hank is in charge of the petting zoo, but he’ll help you if you need him.”

Markus laughs loudly, and Hank frowns, defending himself. “I’m trained. I went to veterinary school for-”

“I know you’re probably certified in dogs or whatever, but not for lions.” Markus grins wickedly, gesturing to the bandages covering his arm. “You want to meet ‘em? I’ve got five.”

Hank gulps. “I’m okay for now.”

“Good,” Markus stands, turning to Tina. “Tell The Rat that I want an extra ten on my act tonight.”

“Tell him yourself.”

“Tell him yourself, Markus mocks, stepping back into the lion car. “Well, if you see him, tell him I gotta talk to him, then.”

“Fine,” Tina scoffs, then reaches down to pet Sumo, too. “He’s a good dog.”

“Mhmm. Good with animals, too. He’ll love these goats.”

Sumo licks Tina’s hand and she recoils, standing upright. “Alright, I can show you to your tent.”

“Lead on.”

They walk back towards the red tents, through the pathway lined in smaller tents of different sizes. She pauses at the large one at the far end of the path, filled with picnic tables and chairs. A few people are eating at them, laughing and tossing food at each other. “We have a few cooks on staff, and they work out of the train’s kitchen.” She gestures to the train. “You can eat here, once the first string has finished.” She points to another tent, father off. “Bathrooms and showers over there. It’s kind of a communal thing, so I hope you don’t care about being naked in front of other people.” 

Hank shakes his head, and she moves to the tent across from the tables. 

She holds the flap open so he can peer inside. “This is the medical tent. We have two doctors that travel with us. Performers hurt themselves sometimes, or a patron gets a little sick. If it’s ever anything serious,we’ll take them to a hospital. But, cuts, colds, sprained ankles?” She pats the ten upon exiting.

They walk down the path, Tina mumbling quick greetings to people as the go. “The black tents are for the support staff.” Tina smiles. “Like you. Two people to a tent. While we’re traveling you alternate bunks, but, while the circus is parked,” She opens one of the tents. It’s mostly empty. Two beds, both neatly made. One of them has a trunk on the end, clothes spilling out. “You’ll be in here.”

Hank sets his things down, and puts out some water for Sumo, telling him to stay put. “Who’s in that bed.”

Tina shrugs. “Security. He’s cool, you’ll like him. He was the only one without a tentmate that doesn’t mind dogs. Come on, I don’t have all morning.” Hank follows her back outside, making mental notes of what the outside of the tent looks like so he won’t forget which one is his. There’s a sign outside, labeled  _ B-F. _

They get further down the path, and Tina gestures to the next tents. They’re slightly smaller, purple. “The performers are separated into two groups. First and second string. Second string performers are also in the black tents, but these,” She gestures to the purple ones. “Our headliners. First strings get paid more than anyone else, and bring us in a ton of revenue. So, they get first pick at each meal, they get to use the showers first, and they get a tent all to themselves.”

Hank nods. He supposes that makes sense. 

“These,” Tina points at the four red tents, bigger than any of the others. She points between them, referring to them in order. “One’s mine, Chris’, our office, and the ringmaster’s.”

Hank nods again, absorbing this. Then, he asks, “All three of you work together?”

Tina sighs. “Sort of. The ringmaster and I used to get drunk and buy concert tickets when we were in high school, but once we accidentally bought tickets to the circus. We had a great time. In college, we brought Chris to a show, only to learn that it was one of their last. The owner was dying and his kid didn’t want it. He was going to fire all of the people, sell the animals. So, the three of us bought the place together, and we tried to split the workload evenly.

“You met Chris. He handles our financials and hires the support staff. He’s smarter than the two of us, so he handles all the paperwork and stuff. He contacts the venues and sets up show dates, makes sure everyone gets paid, all that jazz.” She gestures to herself. “I manage the support staff. They all report to me. I make sure that everyone does their job so we can have a smooth running circus. I handle all firings, but mostly I just sit and listen when two people get catty and want to bitch at someone.”

Hank laughs. “You’re their manager. You have to.”

“I know.” Tina groans. “I’m glad you’re here. With the volunteers reporting to you, I won’t have to deal with them as much. You’re here to make my job easier, because I don’t know shit about animals.” They start walking to the big top, a large black tent covered in white fairy lights. “The ringmaster handles the show and all of the performers. He hires them, and makes sure that all of them are focused and that we give patrons the greatest show they’ve ever seen. We want to keep it true to how it was when we used to come here, but still keep it fresh and entertaining.

“There’s not a lot of reasons for you to interact with the performers. When they’re not performing, they’re sleeping or rehearsing. They’re focused, and driven.” She shrugs again, stepping through the massive opening. “Just don’t get in their way and The Rat won’t come for you.”

“The Rat?”

Tina points, and Hank’s eyes widen. The tent is filled with performers, working incredibly hard for this early in the morning. Men and women flip on trapezes, dance to music through earbuds, yell things in languages Hank can’t understand. Tina guides him in the direction of her finger, to a man in the middle, shouting at people in English. “Hey!” Tina yells over the commotion, gaining his attention. “You want to meet this guy?” She pats Hank’s chest.

The man shakes his head, turning away from them and continuing to shout. 

Tina rolls her eyes before grabbing his arm, yanking him towards Hank. “This is Hank. He’s our new animal director.”

Hank is shocked when the man shakes his hand vigorously, a fake grin plastered on his face. A scar dominates his features, spanning from his left eyebrow down to the right side of his mouth. “Gavin Reed.”

Hank shakes his hand, too, trying to keep his grip firm. Gavin pulls away, turning back to staring at a group of acrobats. Tina learns to Hank’s ear. It’s hard to hear her over all the noise. “The Rat is our ringmaster. He’s a prick.”

“I can tell.”

“Hey, Asshole,” Tina grabs Gavin again. “Markus wants you to add ten to his act.”

Gavin tips his head, frowning. “Is that a fucking joke? I told him no already.”

“Yeah?”

“He asks me every fucking night. If I give him ten, I’d have to take ten away from someone else.”

Tina scratches her neck, thinking for a moment. “Take ten from a smaller act. Markus is first string, he gets priority.”

“Absolutely not.” Gavin digs around in his pockets, pulling out a small package of m n’m’s. He rips the wrappers, dumping them into his mouth. “The only nice way to do that would be to take it from the acts before or after him. Eights is too valuable, and he worked hard to earn the time he has allotted. I’m not taking ten from my fucking show stopper, for Markus motherfucking Manfred. That guy’s an ass, Teen. I’m not-”

“So take it from Ralph.”

Gavin gasps around a mouthful of candy. “You’re a cold hearted bitch. Ralph works just as hard as the first strings.”

“I was just-”

“Hey!” Gavin turns, shoving the candy wrapper into Hank’s hands so he can shout at someone Hank can’t see through the crowd. “Watch your fucking feet! Break your neck and you break my fucking profits. Excuse me,” He adds quickly to Tina, disappearing into the crowd of performers.

Outside the tent is much quieter, and Tina takes a breath, apologizing for Gavin. “He’s awful.”

“He’s just doing his job.” Hank looks out at the rows of tents, then over at the stables. “Speaking of which, are there volunteers I need to meet?”

“Yes! Holy shit,” Tina laughs. “Right, yeah. Let’s get you trained.”

Hank’s first week of work goes smoothly, to his surprise. The volunteers are mostly teenagers who like animals, so they’re easy to manage. He oversees the petting zoo while it’s open, and helps take care of the horses and larger animals while it’s closed. After shows, he sits with Markus, learning about the lions. They all have personalities, according to Markus, and relationships. He talks to them like they’re people. Sumo is terrified of them. 

When he’s not with Markus, he listens to Kara, who takes care of the elephant. Her daughter, Alice, rambles for hours and hours about the show and how great her parents did, her curly hair bouncing as she kicks her legs. Hank can’t help but feel a little down after he sits with them. They have an incredibly close relationship, and it makes Hank’s heart ache.

One night, he sees them walk off towards their tent, meeting up with the strongman halfway there. He scoops Alice into his arms and kisses Kara sweetly. 

It’s nice. Hank shakes away all thoughts of them as he sleeps, trying not to think about the crumpled photo of his son.

Hank’s roommate is not too bad. He works as the circus’ security, and spends most nights in someone else’s tent. That leaves Hank and Sumo to snore as loud as they want. It’s not bad. Definitely beats Hank’s old routine: Working, drinking, passing out on the floor.

On Sundays, the zoo closes early. The big top does shows every week night, and three or four each day on the weekends. So, Alice grabs Hank’s arm before the show and asks him to come with her to watch. “You haven’t seen it yet, and I usually have to watch with Chris.” More

She says please a thousand times before Hank agrees, and she helps him get Sumo situated in bed before they walk to the big top. 

The show already started, so they slip in through the side, clambering up in he bleachers and sliding down next to Chris. Chris types quickly on his phone, so Alice ignores him to talk to Hank, shoving popcorn into her mouth and chatting happily. Hank tried to pay attention to the show, catching the back end of an aerial dancer twisting himself in the ribbons. He applauds, and Alice finally is quiet. “Dad’s next,” She whispers, worming her greasy popcorn hand into Hank’s. 

Luther’s act is pretty good. He lifts large objects and heavy weights, drawing gasps from the crowd. It’s nice, watching Alice watch her dad. She’s likely seen his act thousands of times, but still loves every second. She acts the same when Kara brings the elephant out, standing on its back and waving to the crowd. She tosses balls to the elephant, doing tricks. Alice laughs louder than anyone when the elephant hides its face behind its ears. 

She’s a good kid.

Markus’ act is frightening. The way he sits so casually while lions jump over his head and place their jaws around his skull. Hank holds Alice’s hand a little tighter. She leans to him to whisper again. “Markus likes to scare people. The lions are really nice.”

Hank leans, too. “Then how is he always injured? His arms are always messed up and he’s covered in bite marks.” 

Alice laughs. “He’s stupid, and messes up on purpose. He just wants an excuse to talk to one of the doctors.” 

“Really?” 

Nodding, Alice shovels more popcorn. “Mom keeps telling him to just go talk to him, but Markus is too nervous. Dad says he’s an idiot.” One of the lions pounces on Markus’ chest, and the crowd gasps, but Alice laughs. “He’s faking. Look,” 

Markus sits upright, unscathed. “Your dad’s right. He is an idiot.”

He guides the lions back into their cage, and Gavin returns to announce the next act. The music changes, as do the lights, dimming to a light blue. A spotlight raises on a small platform, as a cloaked figure waltzes quietly out to it. Alice wiggles her hand out of Hank’s. He wipes butter onto his jeans, freeing his hand from her as she hand her popcorn to Chris. 

Soft music springs to life, and the figure drops his cloak, revealing the man underneath. His outfit is more revealing than the others Hank has seen, exposing pale skin. He sparkles as he moves, climbing up onto the platform and sinking to sit with his feet dangling. Hank’s brow furrows before the man raises his leg, placing his foot behind his head. 

A contortionist. 

Hank has never seen one in person. It’s almost scary how easily his body folds and bends. He moves with the music, flipping, balancing on one arm while his legs are twisted above his head. Gasps and sighs come from the crowd, and Hank finds himself on the edge of his seat, watching the act with severe attention. For a moment, he forgets about Alice. The contortionist finishes, standing and bowing. Hank stands when he applauds, though he isn’t sure what moves him. He sinks back onto the bleachers as Alice starts blabbering again. 

Huh. That was cool. 

After the show, Alice drags Hank through the costume tent, maneuvering past performers and mirrors and makeup stands to find her parents. She climbs into Luther’s lap while Kara removes her makeup, and Hank tells them they did an amazing job. 

Someone bumps his shoulder, and he turns, mumbling a quick, “Oh, excuse me.”

It’s the contortionist. 

He’s prettier up close. High cheekbones and dark brown eyes. Dark moles and freckles that cover his face like spilled ink. His hair is curly, one strand falling into his face, and his makeup consists of sharp eyeliner and blue glitter. More

The number eight is embroidered into his spandex. Eights, Hank remembers. Gavin mentioned him. 

 

He gives Hank a pointed look before turning to head to his own station, sitting on a small stool in front of a lighted mirror, covered in pictures and roses. Hank can’t help but notice the angel wings, inked into his pale flesh. They rest just above where his costume covers his ass, on his lower back. 

Hank gulps. 

Oh, what he would give to run his hands over those wings.

Packing up the circus to move to a new town is stressful. Hank barely has time to talk to Alice, and focuses all of his energy into making sure the animals are comfortable on the train. The train ride itself is less than desirable. It’s cramped, and there are twenty people sleeping in the same car as Hank, so he spends most nights by the train’s cafeteria, reading a book while Sumo snores at his feet. He sits with Tina often, talking to her about liking the job and listening to her complain about her own job.

He likes Tina, and is glad they get along. It’s easy to talk to her, to complain with her. She’s kind. 

Hank never sees Eights on the train. He rarely sees the performers at all. He spots one of the acrobats at some point, but they don’t speak.

Setting up the circus again is harder than taking it down. Hank is part of the ‘support staff’ so he helps set up tents and putting together beds. 

When he finally collapses into his own bed, he’s asleep in seconds, not caring when Sumo licks his hands profusely.

The first day after set up is dedicated to practice. The big top is closed, and the petting zoo is inactive. Hank spends his time watching over the animals and cleaning up after them before Tina brings him a few volunteers to train. He shows them the ropes, tells them about the animals. They seem competent enough, but Hank doesn’t get to eat dinner until late. He leaves Sumo with Markus, and sighs when he sees that most of the good food is already gone. He shifts through bags of chips until he settles on one, sitting at a picnic table and eating alone.

Sumo is by himself when Hank returns, chewing on a bone. Hank takes it from him, wondering where he got it and where Markus went. He glances at the medical tent, catching Markus faking a limp. Hank rolls his eyes and gives the bone back to Sumo. Markus must have just given it to him to chew on. 

Alice stays with him for one show, leaving only to go watch her parents before returning. She and Hank watch the kids in the petting zoo, the volunteers handing out cups of carrots and grain.

He doesn’t get to see the show again until Sunday, and he sits with Alice and Chris again. Chris asks Hank how things are going with the zoo, and Hank keeps his answers short. He can tell that Chris is working on something else, only half listening.

Eights’ act is even better than the last one Hank saw. He twists himself up, so small, that he can fit into a tiny glass box. One of his hands sticks out through the top, and he waves, gaining a laugh. 

 

Hank asks Alice afterwards about him. She shrugs, eating cotton candy.

Kara takes it from her and gives her an apple instead, and she pouts, waiting for Kara to leave before feeding the apple to one of the horses. “Eights is nice. Works hard.” 

Luther ruffles her hair, asking why Hank is wondering about Eights. He shrugs. “I just like his act.”

“The Rat pushes a few of the acts harder than the others. The ones that really draw crowds. Eights is one of the most dedicated people I’ve ever met, and I guess he has to be, since Gavin’s so hard on him.” 

“Why?” 

Luther shrugs, stifling a yawn. “Guess he’s just proud.” Pausing, Luther shakes his head. “That, or he hates Eights with a passion and likes watching him suffer.” 

Hank lays awake that night, trying to imagine Eights working hard. He looks over at the other bed, empty again. Allen is rarely ever around at night.

Daringly, Hank shuts his eyes, working his hand down into his boxers, picturing lithe Eights, working himself hard, covered in sweat. He imagines those long legs, twisted over Eights’ shoulders as Eights touches himself, exposed for only Hank to see. It’s a nice fantasy, it’s-

He pretends to be asleep when Allen returns, collapsing into his bed. There’s a groan, and Hank steadies his breathing when Allen asks, “Where’s your dog?” 

Sumo? Hank sits upright, looking down at the end of the bed. He’s not there. 

He wipes his eyes before climbing out of bed, struggling to get his jeans back on. Allen is snoring in just a few seconds, and Hank sighs. He throws on his boots before stomping out of the tent, flashlight and leash in hand. Sumo’s collar has a bell. It shouldn’t be too hard to find him, but Hank is still inconvenienced.

He can hear the bell over by the stables, and he rolls his eyes. Sumo must have wanted to play with the goats again. Hank follows the sound, surprised when he finds a shadow, looming over Sumo on the ground. 

He freezes, unsure of what to do before he realize the shadow is petting him, scratching behind his ears. Sumo chews happily on another one of those bones. Releasing a breath, Hank steps forward with the flashlight, trying to see who’s spoiling his dog with treats and scratches this late at night. 

It’s Eights.

Hank almost gasps aloud. He’s squatting, his sweater riding up just enough for Hank to see the wings. It takes a few seconds for Hank to work up the courage to say something, afraid that he’ll be able to tell that Hank was just jerking off to the thought of him a few minutes ago.

And now, he’s here, with Hank’s dog. Wild. He clears his throat, and Eights jumps up, spinning around. “Oh!” He shakes his head, breathing heavily. “I’m so sorry. You scared me, oh my.” 

He has an accent. It’s thick, heavy. Rolls off of his tongue like syrup.

“I just,” Eights pants, gesturing to Sumo. “I found... dog, a few days ago. And, he’s good. Good boy. I had these bones, and he likes them. And I know I should be practice, or asleep, but he’s just... Such good boy.” 

His English is broken. Not very good. 

It’s alluring.

Hank laughs, shaking his head. “It’s... it’s okay. Sumo is friendly, I don’t mind. I was just worried about him, that’s all.” 

“Oh, good.” Eights sighs, sinking down to pet the dog again. “Sumo. I like that name.” 

“He does, too.” Hank scratches his head, moving to lean against one of the wooden posts of the stable. Sumo licks Eights’ face. “He likes you.” 

“I like him!” Eights laughs, kissing the side of Sumo’s face. “I never get to have dogs.” 

“Really?” 

He nods. “The Rat says it’s distraction from show.”

Hank nods, reaching down to scratch Sumo’s head. His tail thumps against the dirt. “Well, you can see Sumo whenever you’d like.” Hank clicks his teeth, wondering if that was too bold. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. 

“Really? I would love to.” Eights pops back up, smiling. His teeth are dazzling white, and his wide grin makes his dimples cavernous. Jesus. He says something, and Hank furrows his brow, confused. It’s not English. Eights shakes his head. “Sorry. My name.” He says it again. Hank shrugs, feeling terrible. He has no idea what he said. Eights sighs. “You can call me Connor.” 

“Connor?” 

He nods. “It is fake name. Easier to pronounce.” 

Hank smiles, nodding too. “Okay, uh. I’m Hank.” 

“Hank,” Connor repeats, slow. It sounds weird coming from his mouth. Like it gets stuck in his throat.

Hank didn’t imagine he would have an accent like this in his fantasy. 

“Well,” Hank laughs a little, feeling awkward. It’s hard having someone as pretty as Connor close to him for this long. “You can see Sumo whenever you want. You don’t have to sneak out like this.”

Connor purses his lips. “Can I come to your tent? I really love him, but it’s hard to find time. The Rat is... strict on schedule.” 

Hank’s face heats up. He wants to go to his tent. “Uh, sure. It’s uh... BF.” 

“Oh!” Connor smiles again, making Hank take a step back.

“You’re with Allen?” 

“Yeah.” Hank swallows, nervous. 

“So, you know Sergei.” 

“No.” Connor frowns again, shrugging his shoulders. “But, you can come over whenever. Allen is rarely around anyway.” 

“Then where is he?” Connor wrinkled his nose, thinking. His thinking face is precious. “I thought he always brought Sergei to...” 

“Allen is there now, but he just got there.” 

Connor blinks for a second, confusing Hank, now. Then, he gasps. “That snake! They go to Sergei’s tent. I asked them not to.” He shakes his head, letting Sumo again. “Thank you. I have to go. But, nice to meet you.” He leaves, quickly walking through the lines of tents. 

Hank watches after him, sighing and leaning on the post again. “Jesus Christ, Sumo.” Sumo chews on his bone quietly as Hank continues to stare out into the darkness.

Hank wakes up to the sound of Sumo’s tail hitting the bed post, the smell of bacon. He rolls over, jolting upright when he meets large brown eyes. “Fucking shit,” 

Connor smiles up at Hank from the floor, standing and perching on the edge of the bed, feet folded under him. “I came to see Sumo before rehearsal.” Hank watches him, admiring his smile. “You snore funny.” 

“You watched me sleep?” 

“Yes.” Connor reaches to the night stand, grabbing two plates, one stacked high with waffles and bacon, the other filled with bright fruits. “I get first pick of breakfast. Do you like waffles?” He passes the waffle plate to Hank, then tosses some bacon for Sumo. Hank runs his hands down his face, then reaches for the small bottle of syrup. It’s a bit weird, but he’s not about to turn down free waffles. Usually, by the time Hank gets to the food, it’s just eggs and toast. First string performers really do get special treatment, then. “I’m sorry for frightening you. You’ll be happy to know I spoke to Allen for you.” 

“What?” 

“I asked him not to bring Sergei here, either.”

Hank shakes his head, biting into a bit of waffle. The syrup is way too sweet, but he doesn’t mind. “I don’t know who that is.” 

“Sergei is baby brother.” Connor admires a cube of pineapple before popping it into his mouth. “But he’s annoying.” 

Swallowing, Hank sighs. “Why “would I care if Allen brought him here?” 

“They fuck loud.” Hank chokes, leaning forward. Connor pats his back, but continues. “I told them to stop going to Sergei’s tent, since mine is next to it. I don’t like hearing baby brother fuck, you know? Anyway, they would come here, but you moved in, so they went back to Sergei’s.” Connor shakes his head. “Gross. I refuse to be near that. But, I asked Allen to find somewhere new or secret or climb into train or something.” 

Hank nods, eating a strip of bacon. “Hmm. Thank you, then. I would rather not be around anyone doing... that.” 

“You’re welcome!” Connor smiles. “We’re friends now, and I can’t let Sergei fuck in front of Sumo.” He bends, petting Sumo lovingly. 

Hank thinks back on his fantasy. On Eights, screaming his name, twisting his body to accommodate Hank’s. His own fingers digging into Eights’ wings, his own breathing soft and quiet, trying not to drown out Eights’ breathy moans. 

He now realizes that fantasy is wrong. Connor is... strange. It’s not bad, Hank is still intrigued. He’s just a bit different than Hank had expected. Now that it’s not dark, Hank can see that his beauty is usually amplified by makeup. His bare face is soft, kind. Bare of the sharp cheekbones and the dazzling glitter. He’s normal. 

It’s a bit strange, seeing a dream become real.

That’s not to mention Connor’s accent. It sounds like he’s chewing on a sock or choking on his own spit. For someone so beautiful, his accent is so... phlegmy.

Connor continues to chat while Hank finishes the waffles, his smile crooked. He talks a lot, so Hank never has to fill any awkward empty space. It’s nice. His accent slowly becomes easier to understand as Hank spends more time adjusting to it. Maybe he should ask what Connor’s real name is, since he couldn’t understand in his tired, horny haze last night.

As he opens his mouth, Connor checks his phone. “Ah, I have to go.” He makes a face, holding his fingers up like pretend whiskers. The Rat. “Bye bye, Sumo.” Connor plants a kiss on Sumo’s head, before turning to Hank. He takes the plates, the syrup. He bows, then winks. “Hank,” 

Hank stares at the tent’s opening until Allen slips in to fumble around in his chest of clothes. 

It’s been a while since Hank has liked someone. It’s sort of... nice.

A few days pass before Hank sees Connor again. He gets a bit overwhelmed with work and can’t find the energy to go watch the show. He wonders if Connor is busy as well, or if he’s just not in the mood to visit Sumo. That’s the only reason he hangs around anyway, right?

No. He said he and Hank were friends. 

Alice sits at the petting zoo while Hank works, and he stops to stand next to her and look out at the volunteers. “You wanna be in charge of something?” 

Her face lights up, and she stands, tiny shoes hitting the dirt. “Yes, please!! Mom never lets me be in charge of anything.” 

“Watch over the zoo for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” 

“Okay!” Alice folds her arms, leaning on one of the posts like Hank does. He laughs, then heads off, smiling to himself.

He forgot how crazy the rehearsals are, because they’re not real rehearsals. It’s a shit ton of people practicing their acts all at the same time, and it’s frightening. Like someone could get hurt any minute. 

Hank sinks into the bleachers, folding his hands in his lap.

Connor’s on his little platform again, balancing on flat firearms while his legs dangle above his head. 

He spots Hank and waves with his foot. 

Hank watches him for a while, never ceasing to be amazed, wondering how he gets his body to bend like that. It shouldn’t be possible.

It’s definitely not helping that he’s lacking his usual dazzling uniform. When Hank saw him outside and in his tent, he was wearing a soft sweater and pajama bottoms. Now, he’s wearing athletic shorts and a tight pink tee, scrunched up as he moves, exposing his toned abdomen.

Hank feels mesmerized. Connor is amazing. It’s an incredible feeling, knowing that your friend is talented. Hank hopes that Connor likes him, too. He hasn’t dated anyone in years, but might make an exception for Connor.

The bleachers beside him creak, and Hank doesn’t turn until he smells the unmissable scent of tobacco. 

The Rat. 

Gavin grins, a cigarette stuck between his teeth. Though he’s met Gavin before, Hank is still taken aback by his gnarly scar. “Having fun?” 

His question is casual, tone laid back. Hank shrugs. “Just watching.” 

“How’s the zoo?” 

“Good,” Hank smiles back, then turns to keep watching Connor. “Just taking a break.” 

Gavin laughs, huffing a cloud of smoke. “We don’t do breaks around here.”

“What?” 

“Totally kidding.” Gavin unwraps something, and the sounds of rehearsal seem less loud compared to Gavin’s obnoxious chewing. “Let me be honest with you, Henry.” 

Henry? No one has called Hank ‘Henry’ since his parents died. “Okay?”

“I need you to keep your hands off my first strings, alright?” 

Hank blinks, turning to look at Gavin again. He stamps out the cigarette on the ground as he gnaws on a granola bar. “I beg your pardon?” 

Gavin shrugs, speaking around a mouthful of food. “You’re this big, hulking bear. Most of my first strings are easily distracted.” 

“What?” 

“They’re all salacious twinks.” Gavin sighs, exasperated. “You’re going to distract them if you keep hanging around, looking like that.”

Hank turns back to watching Connor, arms twisted around his head. Huh. Salacious twink actually seems like a good descriptor. “What makes you say that?” 

Gavin snaps his fingers in front of Hank’s face, then gestures to his wedding band. “I’m married to one. They talk.”

Hank frowns, wondering if this means Connor is married. It would make sense, considering how hard Gavin pushes him to be better. Hank understands Gavin a bit, now. He’s a dick because he thinks Hank is hitting on his husband. “Okay.” Hank pats his thighs before he stands, tilting his head. “I’ll get out of your hair.” 

“That’s for the best.” Gavin crumples his granola wrapper into his jacket, then lights another cigarette. “These are closed rehearsals. Don’t come to another one.” 

Hank feels stupid for getting his hopes up. Connor has a husband.

He never should have thought they could be anything more than friends. Connor really is only interested in Sumo, then. He really only wants to pet a dog every once in a while. 

Hank leans next to Alice. Shutting his eyes, he wonders why Connor doesn’t wear a ring.

Allen stumbles into their tent earlier than usual, another man in tow. Hank looks up from his book as Allen pushes the man onto his bed. For a brief moment, Hank sees Connor. 

Then, he remembers, Connor has a brother. 

He looks a bit different, though he has the same brown eyes and scattering of freckles. His hair is white-blonde, and the low light from the tent glints off of a piercing set in his eyebrow. Hank goes back to his book, rolling over on his side, but Sumo barks loudly. Allen curses. “Dude,” 

“I’ll take him out, calm down.” The air is cold, and Hank regrets not grabbing his jacket. He walks Sumo around the length of the clearing, and settles on sitting on the last car of the train. The woods look ominous in the cold fog, and Sumo sits by Hank’s feet. Hank figures he should probably wait for them to finish before he heads back. 

He forgot his phone, so he leans his head on the metal railing, letting his feet dangle out in front of him. 

Footsteps gain his attention, though he doesn’t look up. “Hiding from Allen?” Connor climbs up to sit beside him.

Hank shrugs, watching Sumo jump up to lick Connor’s face. “And your brother, I guess.” 

“Mm.” Connor laughs at Sumo. It’s a crime for his laugh to be that alluring. “Sergei is... horrible slut. I hide from them, too.” Hank sighs, keeping his forehead pressed against the metal.

He’s tired, and finds himself listening to Connor instead of talking. “You can to watch me today.” 

“Yeah.” 

“That was kind of you.” Connor nudges Hank’s thigh with his own. “Not many people like me enough to watch show.” 

“Might be because Gavin is scaring them off.”

Connor laughs again, kicking his legs out absentmindedly. He’s barefoot. “The Rat is protective and rude. Don’t listen to him.” 

Hank frowns, not believing him. “Really? He said rehearsals are closed.” 

“They’re not. He just wants me to work without distraction.” Connor hums to himself, looking over Hank’s arms. “You’re cold.” 

“Ran out of there without a jacket.” 

There’s a pause, and then a blanket is draped around Hank’s shoulders. Hank finally sits up, realizing that Connor is in only his boxers today, shielding himself from the cold with only a blanket. 

Hank’s heart rate excels when Connor rests his head on Hank’s shoulder. “I’m cold, too.” 

It’s quiet for a while, the only sounds the frogs chirping in the woods and Sumo’s heavy breathing. Hank thinks back on Gavin, and his vague threats. “Your husband think I’m distracting you.” 

Connor twists, folding his legs across Hank’s lap, using his arms to keep himself on the train, wrapping one around Hank’s torso. “My husband?” 

“Yeah. He gave me this whole speech about staying away from first strings.”

“You... you think The Rat is... husband?” 

“Yeah, he made it pretty obvious.” 

Connor laughs again, shaking his head against Hank’s shoulder. Hank’s starting to feel very warm. “Gavin is my brother’s husband.” 

Hank leans away for a second to glance down at Connor, confused. “Isn’t he fucking Allen right now?”

“Sergei is. Nik is probably making The Rat buy him more shoes.” 

“What?” Hank blinks, frowning. “Nik?”

“My brother, Nikolai. Rat’s husband.” Connor sits up, meeting Hank’s gaze. “I have two brothers.” 

“What.” Hank’s eyebrows stay furrowed.

“Sergei, baby brother. He’s aerial dancer and slut. Nikolai, big brother. He married The Rat five years ago.” Connor puts his finger over his lips. “Mime.” Hank’s shoulders droop, and Connor immediately places his head back against it, humming again.

Hank sighs, slowly lowering his own head to rest against Connor’s. “The Rat really freaked me out earlier. Like he was mad that I was hitting on you.” 

“He might be mad. I’m top of first string. He makes me work harder than others so it won’t seem like he has a favorite. Tries too hard to make it seem like he’s not giving brother-in-laws special treatment. He’s mean to Allen, too, for Sergei.” Connor tightens his grip on the blanket, his cold toes pressing against Hank’s forearm. “Nikolai likes to gossip. He probably told Gavin you’re trying to distract me from working.” 

Hank chuckles, running his hand over Connor’s leg, pressing his thumb against a dark freckle. “I’ll try not to distract you, then. To avoid his wrath.” 

“Maybe I want you to distract me.” Hank’s breathing slows, and his hand stills on Connor’s thigh. He keeps quiet, waiting for Connor to continue or change the subject. Eventually, thankfully, he does. “You were vet before circus?” 

Finally, Hank exhales, his face bright red. “Yeah. I love animals. I was at one place for twenty years before I decided that Sumo and I needed a change of scenery.” He pauses to scratch Sumo’s head, listening to the dog sleep soundly. “How long have you been here?” 

Connor thinks for a moment. “Eight years. Was gymnast in Novosibirsk, but started contortion when I was... seventeen, I think.” He pauses again, then laughs. “That makes me sound like baby. I’m thirty-one.” 

 

Hank runs his free hand down Connor’s back under the blanket. He can feel each vertebrae on his spine. “What is your first name? I feel bad, I couldn’t understand you at all when you told me.”

Connor smiles. Hank can feel his cheeks move against his shoulder. “Evgeni.” Connor laughs louder than normal when Hank tries to pronounce it, apparently failing miserably. “Don’t bother. I like when you call me Connor.” 

“Yeah?” Hank’s hand feels hot against Connor’s bare skin.

“I like how you say, Hank, too.” 

“Hank,” Connor whispers, his breath hot on Hank’s neck. Hank shivers. “I like you.” 

“Yeah?” Hank thinks he sounds stupid, but he talks anyway, his voice cracking. “That’s nice.” Connor huffs, and Hank shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m awkward.”

Connor’s right hand pulls tighter against Hank’s side while he sits up to adjust his legs, laying one out behind Hank and keeping the other in Hank’s lap. Hank gulps as Connor places his head back on Hank’ shoulder. “Do you not like me?”

Hank watches him, registering the feel of his rib cage against Hank’s fingers, his legs wrapped around Hank’s waist. The hand on his back, the other running slow circles against Hank’s chest. “I like you.” Connor purrs, leaning forward to kiss Hank’s cheek. 

His lips are warm.

“But,” Connor pulls back, eyes narrowing. Hank sighs before continuing. “I haven’t been with anyone since my wife died, Connor. I can’t just...” 

Connor shushes him, smiling again. “That’s okay. We don’t have to-“ 

“I want to, I just...”

Connor presses his head against Hank’s chest. “I like spending time with you. Like this.” 

Hank runs his hands down Connor’s back, smiling softly. “Do you think they’re done yet?” 

“Who? Sergei and Allen?” Connor shakes his head. “Absolutely not. They’re crazy. Fuck for hours.”

“Damn.” Hank sighs again. “Your hands are cold.” 

“Come to my tent, we’ll hide from them.” 

“Yeah? Connor, I-“ Connor’s up in seconds, and Hank is shocked by the sudden cold. He snatches Sumo’s leash, waking up the big dog and holding the blanket close to his chest.

“Come, I’m cold.” And then, Hank is following him, arms folded against the cold. 

The first string tents are smaller than the others, but seem larger with only one bed. Connor’s bed is a bit bigger than Hank’s, but the tent seems cluttered due to its size. A rack of costumes dazzle and glisten even in the dead of night, and Connor has piled books and shoes in all four corners. His bed is covered in pillows and blankets, way too many. He has to push some pillows onto the floor to make room. 

He pats the bed beside him, and hesitantly, Hank climbs in, kicking his shoes off and settling onto the plush mattress. It’s softer than Hank’s bed, too. Sumo stays on the floor, chewing on a bone Connor tosses to him. Hank lays back, and Connor nuzzles into his side, wrapping his legs around Hank’s.

It’s quiet. Eerily so. Hank stares up at the roof of the tent, not noticing when Connor reaches past him to flick on a night light projector. 

Blue stars cover the roof, dancing and gliding around in circles. 

It’s the best Hank has slept the entire time he’s worked here.

The bed is empty when Hank wakes. Even Sumo is missing from the floor. He struggles to roll over onto his side, constantly sinking into the mattress. Sunlight grazes the end of the bed, peeking in through the tent opening. After a moment, Hank presses his face into one of the pillows, inhaling deeply. The satin smells like Connor. 

He jumps when the tent opens, Sumo’s bell jingling loudly as Connor lets him back in. Connor grins, and Hank rubs his eyes, glancing down at Connor’s tight, patterned leggings and loose sweater. “Good morning!”

Hank laughs, a little taken aback by Connor’s enthusiasm. “Hey.” He yawns, scratching his stomach. “What time is it?” 

“Six.” Connor undoes Sumo’s leash, dropping a bowl of water in front of him. 

“Awfully early, don’t you think?”

Shrugging, Connor moves to fumble through a box of his things at the end of the bed. “No. Rehearsal begins at seven-thirty.” He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you want breakfast?” 

“Shit, yeah, okay.”

Connor walks with Hank to his tent, politely covering his eyes when Hank changes. Allen snores loudly, even as his alarm blares beside him. Yawning again, Hank follows Connor back out, surprised when he turns away from the tent with all the food. “Uh, aren’t we getting breakfast?” 

“We are.” Connor glances back over his shoulder. “You want to eat with all performers jammed in one tent?” 

Hank purses his lips, but doesn’t argue, shoving his hands in his pockets. Maybe they’ll just eat in Connor’s tent this time. But they haven’t even gotten... 

Connor walks past his tent, head high. Huh. Hank’s confusion only grows when Connor holds open the flap of one of the red tents, gesturing for Hank to walk inside. 

Hank freezes, awkward, so Connor walks in first. “I brought friend today.” 

The opening shuts behind Hank as he looks around. This tent is larger than Hank’s, more like a home. There’s a rug, a couch, a coffee table. A rounded table surrounded by mismatched wooden and plastic chairs. Taller wardrobes and trunks, a desk, a king sized bed behind the couch, framed with wooden posts and black curtains. Hank focuses on the people gathered at the table, approaching slowly as Connor sits. Tina smiles at Hank, greeting him warmly as Chris pours orange juice into different sized glasses and tea cups. Gavin’s feet rest on the table by a plate of pancakes, and he frowns as Hank sits beside Connor. “Thought I told you to stay away from my first strings.” 

Hank tries to say something, but Connor’s hand on his arm shuts him up. “Hank is friend, not distraction. I’m still here on time, I’m still focused.”  Gavin rolls his eyes, and Connor passes a plate and a cup of orange juice to Hank.

There’s a lot of food. Way too much for just the five of them. Hank tries to count placements, but fails, looking up when the tent billows open again. “I am not late!” White-blonde. Sergei, Hank remembers. “You can check time, I’m not late.”

He drops down into a chair across from Hank, scratching at the stud in his nose. Tina makes a show of checking her watch. “You’re late.” 

“Shut fuck up, I am not.” Sergei immediately starts shoveling bacon, ignoring when Tina advises against it. He points to Hank. “Who?”

Connor picks up a strawberry with his fork. “Hank. He works in petting zoo.” 

Sergei holds his hand out, and Hank places his own hand in it, surprised when Sergei yanks, pulling him closer. The table shakes, but Sergei still leans forward to kiss Hank’s knuckle. “You share tent with Cain?” 

Hank sits again, looking to Connor, who whispers, “Allen.” 

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Hank shrugs. “He’s cool.” 

Sergei keeps eating, brown eyes darting between Hank and Connor. He swallows, smirking again. “You fuck?”

“No!” Connor kicks him under the table, turning to repeat himself to Gavin, who coughs harshly around his cigarette. 

Gavin points to Connor. “You’re distracted.” Then, at Hank. “Don’t fuck my first strings.” 

Hank sputters. This is the strangest breakfast he’s ever been to. “I haven’t!” 

“Don’t.” Gavin folds his arms, looking to Sergei. “You’re distracted, too. Don’t let Allen make you late again.” 

Sergei scoffs. “I was bathing. If you want me to smell like cock, that’s fine. Don’t attack for how I spend free time.”

Chris picks up a newspaper, leaning to Tina. “Every fucking morning...” 

“Look,” Sergei whispers something harshly to Connor, making him blush. Hank really wishes he could understand Russian. Turning back to Gavin, Sergei gestures past Hank. “You want fight? Get him. He’s late.”

Gavin looks around the table, like he’s counting. He swings his feet down from the table, making the silverware clink together. “Nik.” He turns towards the bed, breathing out a cloud of smoke. “I’m not going to fight you today. Fucking get out of bed.”

Connor taps his fork against his bottom lip. “Let him sleep, Rat. Don’t-“ 

“Nikolai, I’m tired of this. Come eat breakfast.” 

There’s a grumble, then another body joins the table. Hank watches him, admiring the similarities to Connor, like when he first saw Sergei.

Though Sergei’s hair is dyed, Nikolai’s is the same dark brown as Connor’s, one curl bouncing against his forehead. He jingles as he moves, chains from his ear piercings clinking together. Hank watches his face, the sharp pieces of metal sticking out of his bottom lip, the bridge of his nose. When he meets Hank’s gaze, his eyes are light blue. Cold. 

He sits in Gavin’s lap, but doesn’t touch the food, or acknowledge Hank’s presence other than one glance. 

Connor doesn’t talk much through breakfast either, besides the occasional whisper to Hank. It’s mostly Sergei and Tina debating about one of the support staff, whether or not she should fire them for breathing the same air as Sergei. Hank finds it a bit weird to spend time with people this way. He hasn’t had a family breakfast since... 

He doesn’t finish that thought.

Connor gets Sumo back on his leash before he leaves for the big top, telling Hank that they should do meet for dinner. 

Hank spends his whole time at the petting zoo daydreaming about Connor and his crooked smiles. He’s giddy. Excited almost. 

It’s terrifying.

Connor doesn’t have time to see Hank until after the show, when Hank is shutting down the zoo. He watches the volunteers walk to the parking lot, then throws a quick goodnight to Kara and Alice as they shut the elephant’s sliding door on the train. Connor taps Hank’s shoulder. “Hey,” Hank takes a second to admire him, still clad in his performance garb. A striped unitard clinging to every inch of his body, blue glitter resting in his curls, on his cheekbones. He threw on some pink slides to walk out here, and they oppose his ensemble horribly. “The show ran so late, I’m sorry.” He exhales, shaking his head. “I tried to come before it started, but The Rat-“ 

“It’s okay, Con, I don’t mind.” Connor blinks at Hank, his smile growing. “I just wanted to see you.” 

Connor beams. Hank’s whole body feels hot. “Well,” Connor claps his hands. “Do you still want dinner?” 

Hank glances over at the food tent, the picnic tables cleared and empty. The medical tent beside it still glows, and Hank catches a glimpse of Markus slipping inside, his fingers entwined with one one of the doctor’s. He turns back to Connor. “I think they stopped putting food out hours ago.” 

Connor’s hand finds Hank’s, pulling him away from the stable. “I know. That’s not where we’re going.” They drop Sumo off in Hank’s tent before they leave, and Hank grabs one of his jackets for Connor to throw over his shoulders. He pulls Hank towards the woods, rambling about Sumo before Hank asks, “How was the show?” 

Connor sighs. “It... fine. It was fine. You don’t want to hear me talk about show.” 

 

“Yeah I do. Tell me everything.”

Apparently, one of the first string acts ended abruptly. Something about a “lack of illusion”, whatever that means. “North just stood there, you know? She had no idea what to do. The lights came up, and... Chloe wasn’t there! She’s always there, but... Lucky that Daniel is after her act. He came in quick to distract audience, but that gave Gavin no time to announce him. We’ll have to have meeting tomorrow about missing cues. Again.” Connor rolls his eyes, squeezing Hank’s hand with his own. “It’s annoying.” 

“I bet.”

Hank watches the bridge of Connor’s nose, admiring the glitter as it catches the light. “Where are we going?” 

Connor shrugs, leaning his head on Hank’s shoulder. “I don’t know. We’ve never set up in place like this. I figure we could walk around? Find food?”

Hank laughs. “That’s your brilliant date idea? Wander around Detroit and ‘find food?’”

“Yes.” He doesn’t sound unsure at all, just excited to spend time with Hank. Hank really likes that about him, how sure he is of everything he does. It’s admirable.

The city is gorgeous at night, albeit incredibly cold. Hank knows a bit more about the U.S. than Connor does, that’s for sure, so he points out statues and monuments, explaining their meaning. Connor listens contentedly, smiling up at Hank. Even if he has no idea what Hank’s talking about, he’s still listening. They find a sports bar, one of the only things that’s open this late. It’s seedy, and a bit dingy, but Connor still drags Hank inside, complaining about being starving. 

The looks he gets makes Hank want to punch someone. People stare at him like he’s some marvel, some object to be gawked at. Women look him up and down, noses scrunched, judging his attire, while men either frown in distaste or smile like they want to devour him. Like they’ve been waiting for hours in this shithole for something pretty to waltz in.

Connor pays them no mind, which Hank doesn’t understand at all. He picks a barstool, orders a martini, still smiling wide. He throws Hank a pointed glance when Hank asks for water. “I don’t drink anymore.” 

It’s hard to stay focused on what Connor’s talking about while Hank can see all of the people still staring, whispering about Connor. It’s driving him crazy, he wants to say something. Or, at the very least, ask Connor if he’s alright. He’s obviously pretending not to notice, not wanting to ruin their night out, away from the circus.

Hank orders mozzarella sticks for them, and Connor is confused by the concept of deep fried anything. “It’s not... healthy.” 

“Nope. That’s the point.” 

“Don’t you...” He bites his lip, picking up one of the sticks. “Get sick?” Hank shrugs, encourages him to try it.

He laughs when he does, blinking profusely. “I hate it.” 

 

“Keep eating, you’ll get used to the grease.” 

“It’s... so much cheese.” 

Hank relaxes when he laughs at Connor getting strings of melted cheese on his chin, helping him get it off. He finds himself not caring about the judgemental audience anymore. 

Connor’s still smiling as they leave, accepting Hank’s jacket again when he offers. Hank holds it out so Connor can slip his arms through the sleeves, still babbling about greasy food.

A group of men leave the bar behind them. One whistles. 

“Hey, Baby. Nice costume.” 

Connor’s jaw clenches, but he ignores them, turning away. He pulls on Hank’s arm, and they start walking back in the direction they came from, towards the circus. Unsurprisingly, the men follow. “Don’t leave me hanging, Baby. Come back here and let me look at you.” 

Hank’s step falters, and he glance down at Connor, mouth twisted in anger. Connor meets his gaze, shaking his head slightly. They keep walking.

“Alright, fuck you, slut. No need to be a bitch, I’m just being nice.” 

Connor’s grip on Hank’s arm tightens.

“Keep ignoring me, whore. No one wants you anyway.”

Hank doesn’t hear the rest. A quick turn, a few steps towards the group and his fist is colliding with the man’s teeth. He stumbles backwards into his group of friends as Hank shakes his arm out. 

Pain spikes up through his shoulder. Blood coats his knuckles.

Small hands find his shoulders as Connor pulls him away from the group. Hank feels hazy with adrenaline, Connor’s brown eyes blurry in his vision. He’s yelling something. Hank thinks it’s in Russian, but isn’t sure. He can’t hear much right now. Connor pulls Hank down to his eye level, crushing their lips together in a sudden fit of passion. Hank’s shocked, but leans into it, feeling the warmth of Connor’s lips, his tongue. 

The man shouts, and Connor pulls away, entwining his thin fingers in Hank’s bloodied hand. They take off down the sidewalk, running away from that fucking mess. The city seems more crowded as they sprint past it, more alive. They push through groups of people, laughing and shouting at strangers to move out of their way.

They stop at the edge of the woods, and Hank lets go of Connor’s hand to lean forward, resting his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. 

Connor laughs, still spewing Russian in between staggered breaths, bouncing with excitement. Hank shakes his head. “What?”

Still panting, Connor showers Hank’s face with soft kisses, chuckling quietly. “You... punched someone for me.” 

“Yeah.” Hank laughs, baffled. “Yeah, I did.”

“You’re wonderful.” Connor kisses Hank’s nose, then his lips, pulling away only to whisper more things that Hank can’t understand. Hank really hopes that he’s only saying good things.

Hank walks Connor back to his tent, pressing his lips in a much longer kiss, enjoying the sound of his breathing. Connor’s hands grip the lapels of Hank’s jacket, fingers still trembling from excitement.

Sumo perks up when Hank returns to his tent alone, snuggling up against him once Hank settles in bed.

His hand fucking hurts the next morning.

The blood has dried, and Hank realizes that it’s not just that guy’s, it’s his own. The teeth must have scraped his skin. He winces as he gets dressed, as he walks Sumo. Eventually, he makes his way to the medical tent, pretending not to see Markus asleep on one of the cots.

Simon, the doctor Markus pines after, is tired, but he treats Hank’s hand. “What the hell did you hit?” 

Hank shrugs, hissing through his teeth as Simon pours hydrogen peroxide into his cut. It bubbles. “Teeth? I don’t know.”

Nodding, Simon bandages his knuckles, and offers a brace. Hank tries to decline, but Simon presses his thumb into Hank’s wrist, making him yelp. “It’s sprained. Stop punching people.” 

“I don’t do it all the time!”

The tent opens, making way for sunlight to pour in. Gavin looms over Hank’s hand as Simon puts the brace on, a cigarette stuck between his teeth. It’s Saturday. The big top has earlier shows today, so Gavin is in full costume. Checkered slacks tucked into tall riding boots, hidden beneath a red tail coat. He’s embellished in gold epaulets and badges, the same gold lining the brim of his top hat.

“Gnarly.” He takes the cigarette with his fingers, exhaling smoke into the small tent. He glances over at Markus when Simon dismisses Hank with a bottle of painkillers. Gavin glares at Simon, who smiles back sheepishly. “Wake his ass up. We have a line outside, call is in thirty.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Gavin points at Hank. “Come with me.” He leads Hank down through the tents, and Hank can see the petting zoo already in full swing.

The volunteers opened without him. Shit. 

Connor is already seated in the office, a mirror propped in front of him as he plasters his face in makeup. He smiles at Hank, not worried at all. Definitely more nonchalant than Hank.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Hank sinks down beside him, eyeing the man perched on the desk.

Nikolai. He looks different now, in costume. His hair is curled and his face is caked in white and black makeup, accenting the striped turtleneck and ripped, chain covered jeans, the leather platform boots hanging over the side of the desk. He tips his head, and Hank eyes the numbers drawn on both of his cheeks. Nines. 

 

Gavin kicks his feet up when he sits in the larger chair, knocking over a few trinkets. “Guess why you’re in here.”

Hank doesn’t want to. Thank God Connor speaks before him. “We snuck out.” 

Nodding, Gavin lights another cigarette, passing it to Nikolai. “Why?”

“We wanted to.” Connor shrugs, continuing to apply glitter to his eyelids. He’s not in costume yet, and his makeup contrasts his plain sweater intensely. “Personal life is not your business, Rat.”

It feels like Hank’s eyes are popping out of his head in surprise. He’s kind of afraid of Gavin. How can Connor speak so rudely to someone so strict? Gavin sighs. “It is my business if it affects the circus.” He glances at Hank. “Tina will speak with you later about sleeping through the zoo opening.” 

Hank nods, but doesn’t speak. He feels like he shouldn’t. 

He resists the urge to cough as Nikolai blows a cloud of smoke right in his face. He keeps his jaw clenched, not wanting to make any more of a mess than he already has. Connor leans away from his mirror, hissing something at Nikolai in Russian.

Nikolai doesn’t answer, his gaze flicking down at the table. His quiet demeanor is weird compared to Connor and Sergei’s outspokenness. Gavin lectures Connor about punctuality and responsibility. How Connor is held to a higher standard than the others, and is expected o stay focused. Hank can tell that Connor is only half listening, finishing his makeup routine and leaning back in his chair.

The whole time Gavin speaks, Nikolai watches Hank, blue eyes piercing through his soul. Hank glances at him occasionally, wondering why the fuck he’s staring so much.

He and Connor leave them so Connor can get dressed, Hank trailing behind him to the costume tent. Hank keeps his back turned, admiring the pictures and flowers covering Connor’s station. The smallest picture, one of him and his brothers in the snow. Hank smiles. Connor taps his shoulder and he turns, admiring Connor in full costume. Black mesh covering his torso, checkerboard sleeves and bottoms, his entire legs exposed. Black x’s cover his nipples underneath. 

He stands on his toes to kiss Hank’s mouth. “Sorry about Rat.”

Hank shrugs. “It’s alright. I don’t regret going out with you.” He looks around the tent, watching other performers bustle in. “I gotta go to work, then.” He kisses Connor again, enjoying the soft little hum Connor lets out. 

“Listen,” Connor smiles. “We’re packing up Monday.”

“Yeah.” Hank knows this. Two more days before they’re back on the train. 

“Performers don’t work or rehearse on packing days. We should go back to town.” 

Hank thinks about that as he works, his mind straying away from his animals all day. How can he turn Connor down?

Surely, Connor knows that Hank is support staff, right? He has to break down tents and get the animals situated. He can’t not work, especially not since he’s already on thin ice for sleeping in. 

Tina comes to talk to Hank during the last show of the night, leaning on wooden posts. She says not to listen to Gavin. “You’re my employee, not his. One fuck up in your first month here isn’t bad, Hank. He’s just an asshole.” 

Hank feels relieved. He isn’t really sure why he’s so afraid of Gavin. “That’s good. Sorry I fucked up my hand.”

“From what Evgeni said, it was for a good reason.” Tina smiles, arms folded. “He didn’t tell Gavin that you were fighting some asshole off of him, but he told me and Chris.” 

“Why didn’t he-“ 

“I don’t think he wants Nik to worry.” Tina shrugs. “They’re all close, but Evgeni hates making them stressed.” She reaches down to grab a stick, tossing it for Sumo. Hank keeps shutting things down while they play fetch, laughing at how dumb Sumo looks when he runs. “Oh!” Tina throws the stick again. “I hear you’re busy on packing day.”

Shit. “Oh? No, uh. Con- er... Evgeni doesn’t work and he asked me if I could... I just haven’t said no yet, he was-“ 

“Just make sure to delegate the workload. I don’t mind if you take a day off.” 

Hank sputters. “Really?” 

“Yeah.”She winks, handing the slobbery stick to Hank. “Have fun.” She pats his chest, smiling. “Be good to him.” 

Blinking rapidly, Hank nods. “Of course.” He pauses, thinking for a second before deciding that he likes Tina enough to be honest. “I really like him.”

Tina laughs, turning back towards the big top. “Good. You should hear him talk about you.” Hank watches her go. “Get back to work, Idiot.” 

Hank throws the stick for Sumo, his heart pounding. 

Connor talks about him.

Sunday is busy. Hank barely has time to eat. It’s the last day of shows, so the place is packed, even the zoo. A kid throws up in one of the pens, and Hank has to sign a volunteers to clean it up. By the time he’s done for the day, he’s exhausted. He doesn’t bother catching the last show, just goes to collapse into bed. He hears Allen at some point, but feels too tired to say anything. 

In the morning, he does what Tina said, he assigns work to a few people, then heads off to Connor’s tent. 

First strings only have to pack their costumes and personal belongings. Then, they leave their things in their tents for others to break down the tent and move it onto the train. Connor is already packed, placing makeup and pictures, more valuable things, into a smaller bag that he can carry himself. “Hi!” He’s not wearing any makeup today, his mood bright and chipper. He kisses Hank’s cheek, throwing his smaller bag over his shoulder. “A couple things,” 

“Oh?” Hank holds open the tent for him, following him towards Gavin’s tent. 

“Brothers come with us.” 

Ah. Hank nods, trying not to seem nervous.

“They’re bored.” Connor shrugs, pushing into Gavin’s tent. It’s mostly empty. “And want to shop. We can do other stuff while they’re out.” He drops his bag onto a small pile of suitcases, calling out to the bed. “Where’s Rat?” 

A grumble comes from the bed. Nikolai.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Are you coming or no?” 

Another grumble, and Nikolai is out of bed, dropping his own bag of things onto the pile. He lacks the face paint, but still keeps with the goth attire. Ripped jeans, tall boots. He looks insane next to Connor, in plain jeans and a soft blue sweater. He reaches up to flip his septum ring down, glaring at Hank. Connor talks to him in Russian as they walk to Sergei’s tent, Hank a few steps behind them, feeling awkward. 

Sergei’s tent is in the same state as Connor’s, packed up and ready to go. Sergei also contrasts his brothers, just in the opposite way. He’s in a romper, and shoes that can’t be comfortable to walk in, his face caked in bold makeup. He grins at Hank, hoop earrings jingling. “Lets go,” He holds his hand out for Connor to look at his cuticles. “If I don’t get nails done, I’ll kill myself.” 

“You won’t kill yourself, but we’ll find somewhere in town.”

“I’m serious.” Sergei pretends to choke as they walk towards the woods. “They’ve grown out. I look like prostitute.” 

Connor rolls his eyes, but turns to Nikolai. “How are yours?” Nikolai shrugs, letting Connor look. “Great. Nails and shopping. Now you both have plan.” 

“Did we need one?” Sergei eyes Hank, making Hank feel uncomfortable again. “You don’t” 

“I’m-“

“Whatever. You want excuse to fuck Hank away from circus.”

Sergei,” Connor falls back, burying his face in Hank’s shoulder. Hank entwines their fingers. “Please stop.” 

Scoffing, Sergei nudges Nikolai, whispering something Hank can’t understand and making him laugh. It takes half an hour for Connor and Sergei to stop arguing and pick a nail salon, and Connor hangs back once his brothers are inside. He rests his forehead on Hank’s chest. “I’m babysitter.” 

Laughing, Hank rubs his back, shaking his head. “No, you’re just nice to them.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I totally understand.” Hank smiles.

“Did you have anything in mind, while they’re doing that?” 

Connor stands upright, eyebrows raised. “Weren’t you listening to Sergei?” A pause, and then he laughs, shaking his head and holding Hank’s hand again. “I’m kidding. That was not plan.” They start walking, and Connor runs his free hand over Hank’s forearm. “Though, I wouldn’t oppose...” 

Hank laughs, kissing Connor’s temple. “Let’s get lunch or something, then we’ll see.” 

“Oh? So you want?” 

His smirk is devilish, and Hank thumps his forehead. “Cool it, weirdo. Lunch first,”

“Fuck later?” Connor finishes for him, laughing. “I kid! I kid. Sorry, I’m... uh. Okay,” He’s quiet, then. 

Hank can’t help but smirk at the blush that creeps over Connor’s features, turning his face bright red. Precious.

Detroit is still just as pretty during the day. It’s been a while since Hank as been in a city. He’s so used to suburbs and long nights at work. Connor uses his phone to find a restaurant, a nice sandwich place overlooking the center of the city. It’s a lot more fun than their seedy sports bar outing, and it actually has healthier options that Connor is comfortable with. Hank picks up a fry, chewing happily while Connor talks about his distaste for certain kinds of movies. 

He doesn’t have time to watch them when he’s not on the train, and he apparently spends his down time deciding what movies in advance. “It’s good to watch them on train, instead of being bored the whole ride. You can watch, too. I have portable...” He searches for the right word, hands waving. “DVD... thing. And lots of movies. We can marathon.”

“Sounds good,” Hank smiles, eating another fry. 

“And cuddle.” 

“Even better.” 

Connor smiles, resting his chin on his hand. “So,” He bites his lip, eyes playful. “Maybe we should talk about... us?” 

Hank raises his eyebrows. “You think so?”

He nods, still smiling. “I don’t want to make things weird, but I want to make sure we’re on same page, you know.” 

“Of course.” 

“Is this... date?” 

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

Connor’s smile grows brighter, his teeth and gums showing more. “Good. I was worried.”

Hank must look confused, because he elaborates, leg bouncing under the table. “It’s just, on train. You said you haven’t done anything since your wife passed. I was worry... because I thought maybe you didn’t want to do anything with me.” 

“Connor,” 

“And, I’m sorry for bringing it up. I know it must be hard to talk, I don’t know, I just... I thought maybe I came on too strong? Like maybe I was... flirt too much.”

Sighing, Hank reaches out to take Connor’s hand over the table, running his thumb over delicate knuckles. “Con, I didn’t like her.”

“What?” 

“We weren’t close. We fought all the time, and we’re going to get divorced.” 

Connor blinks, jaw set. Confused. “Then why,” 

“I haven’t dated anyone since then because she died in a car crash with our son. Losing him destroyed me.”

Connor’s breathing slows, eyes sad. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had...” 

“It’s alright. I didn’t tell you.” Hank shrugs. “I tried online dating last year. I figured it was time for me to try again, you know? Maybe stop feeling so shitty all the time. I went on a few dates, “but telling them I lost my kid was too much for them. It freaks people out, so I stopped trying.” 

He’s quiet, waiting for Connor. “That doesn’t freak me out.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“No, really.” Connor smiles crookedly, trying to look supportive. “I like you, Hank. Nothing will ever change that.” 

Hank smiles, leaning across the table to kiss him, listening to that soft little hum once more. “I like you, too. This is a date.” 

“A date.” Connor repeats, nodding. “Then we should get dessert.” 

“Do they even have dessert?”

Connor glances at the menu. “No. We will find dessert.” 

There’s a bakery not too far from the restaurant, and Connor gets them a cupcake to share as they walk down the street, smiling at cars as they pass. He puts frosting on Hank’s nose, laughing loudly. 

It’s been a long time since Hank has felt this happy. It’s nice. 

They spend the rest of the day exploring, seeing the city. Connor really loves being away from the circus. It makes Hank sad, to see him so happy. The thought that he works so hard that he enjoys just walking around, doing nothing, is incredibly sad. Hank wonders if there’s anyway he can make Connor happy. 

He loves the time they spend together, and Connor is good at making Hank feel better, happy. Hank wants Connor to feel that way, too. Maybe he can figure out how to make Connor less tired, less stressed. He can tell, now, since they’re out, that Connor usually wears so much stress. Too much, steadily wearing on him. Every once in a while, he’ll check his phone, answering messages from Gavin and the worry returns. 

Cautiously, Hank asks, “Everything okay?” Connor shrugs, and Hank places his hand on his shoulder. “Con, you know you can talk to me.”  

Minutes pass, and suddenly, they’re sitting on a bench in downtown Detroit, watching cars and people while they pass. Somewhere, a priest yells about the end times, gathering a crowd. A group of protesters yell about something that Hank doesn’t give a shit about. 

Connor rests his head on Hank’s shoulder. “It’s just too much sometimes. I work too hard, you know? First day off in month, and I can’t relax because I know there’s things to do.” He exhales, shutting his eyes. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I didn’t work.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Hmm,” Connor shrugs, his shoulder brushing Hank’s. “I like contortion. I don’t like stress. Performing is good, but circus is… stressful. Hard to have free time.” He sighs. “Sometimes I get jealous of brothers. So relaxed and they don’t worry about Rat and about routines.”

Hank runs his hand over Connor’s thigh. “Has it always been this tough on you?” 

“Yes,” Connor places his hand over Hank’s. “Even before circus, Amanda was too harsh.” 

“Amanda?”

Connor presses his thumb into the back of Hank’s hand. “Coach. She was olympic gymnast. Adopted us when we were six, made us train to be great. Prodigies.” He pauses, looking back out at traffic. “She didn’t speak Russian, so she hired translator to tell us what she was yelling. Amanda kicked us out of house, and it was more stressful. I learned contortion to get job, then we came to circus, and it’s still stressful.

“Maybe it’s stupid, but, I want to not feel stress anymore. Like, I just want to be normal.”

“Stress is normal, Con.” Hank presses a kiss to his temple. “We can figure something out.” 

Connor shrugs again. “I think it’s just me. I’m just stressed. Brothers aren’t, and they lived same life, you know?” 

That resonates with Hank. They walk back to the circus when the sun starts to set, and he can’t stop thinking about Connor being upset. Nikolai and Sergei snicker and gossip one the way there, arms filled with shopping bags. 

The evening goes by pretty quickly. The last few hours of breaking down tents and packing shit onto the train. Hank says goodbye to the volunteers before heading to find Connor, watching as he drags his personal bag behind him. “Let me take that.” Hank scoops it out of his arms, hoisting it over his shoulder. 

Connor sighs, but let’s him take it. “Thank you.” 

Gavin gives a speech before they all clamber onto the train, reiterating how proud he is of everyone for having a great show, their next stop is in Pennsylvania. Good things that warrants applause, and Hank can’t help but notice that Connor’s arms stay folded. Shoulders raised. People start to file onto the train, and Hank pulls on his arm, making him hang back. “You good?”

“Yes. Just thinking about conversation earlier.” 

Hank asks what’s on his mind, hoping Connor will be honest with him. “Are you happy here?” 

“What?”

“Do you like working here?” Hank has to pull on Sumo’s leash to keep him by their feet. “Or are you miserable?” 

Connor blinks, biting his lip. “I… I don’t know, Hank. I-”

“Don’t think.” Hank presses his palm against Connor’s cheek, letting him lean into it. “Just say what’s on your mind. Do you like working here?” 

“No.” Connor seems surprised by his answer, head shaking. “I… I don’t like performing anymore. Everyone stares at me, and I’m not allowed to have relationships or get distracted. I work all day, all week, I don’t take breaks or spend time alone. I’m-”

“Are you happy?”

Eyes darting between Hank and the train, Connor shakes his head again. “I don’t think so.” 

“Alright. Let’s leave.” 

“What?”

“I want you to be happy, Con.” Hank kisses his forehead. “You make me feel good, and I can’t let you stay here if you’re miserable. You’re right, you work too fucking hard. You deserve to take a break. You’ve been doing this shit your whole life, don’t you want to see if there’s something else you might want?” 

Connor blinks. “I… I suppose I can talk to Rat about less rehearsal...” He sighs, smiling. “Let me talk to him.”

Gavin is in his cabin on the train, sorting through bags and fluffing pillows on the small bed. Connor asks Nikolai if he can speak with Gavin alone, leaving him and Hank standing out in the hall.

Hank smushes himself up against the wall as people walk past, setting his and Connor’s bags on the floor. Sumo growls up at Nikolai. “Sumo, cool it.” Hank pulls on his leash, ignoring the look Nikolai gives him. “Sorry about him,”

“Dogs don’t like me.”

Taken aback, Hank looks to Nikolai, who presses himself up against the wall the same way, glaring at anyone who bumps into him. “What?”

Nikolai repeats himself, then whispers something in Russian, lips twisting into a scowl. “Evgeni is not happy.” Hank swallows. He didn’t realize Nikolai was so observant, and wonders what he might have noticed about Hank. “Hasn’t been for long time.”

“Really?”

Nodding, Nikolai pushes Sumo away from him with his foot, inching further down against the wall. “Sergei does not like you, but I know you’re good for Ev.”

Hank tries to thank him, but can’t, startling as Gavin’s door slides open. Connor grabs Nikolai’s shoulders, whispering something quietly so Hank can’t hear. Nikolai nods, kisses his cheek.

Connor grabs Hank’s arm and suddenly, they’re leaving the train, pushing through crowds of people to get to the last car. Connor jumps off the end, holding out his hand to help Hank down. “I quit.”

“Con, I-”

“You don’t have to come with me, but I can’t stay here. You’re right, I need to figure out… me.”

Hank grins, leaning down to press a kiss to Connor’s lips, heart racing at the sound of that soft little sigh. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Hank has never been impulsive. Everything he’s ever done has been planned out, thought through. He planned his wedding so it would be perfect, he planned his wife and his son’s funeral so it would be respectful. Hank planned to apply for this job for months before he actually did, taking time in making the decision to leave his home and work on the road. His entire life was expected.

Now, as he and Connor walk through the woods in silence, back towards Detroit, he has no idea what to expect, or what life has in store for them.

He’s only known Connor for a short amount of time, and they’re running away together. Life’s funny. He thinks it has something to do with Connor. Connor brings out the best in him, makes him want to be better. Makes him confident enough to do spontaneous things like this. 

It’s wonderful. Hank is happy.

Connor has a small amount of cash on him, and they use that to get a hotel room a few miles away from the forest. 

Sumo immediately makes himself comfortable, settling on a pillow Hank sets on the floor for him. He’s asleep in just a few minutes, and Hank collapses backwards onto the bed. Connor stands by the window, peering out at the city. “They’re gone now.”

“How are you feeling?”

Connor shrugs before joining Hank in the bed, kicking his slides off and nuzzling up under Hank’s arm. He presses his ear to Hank’s chest, hearing his heartbeat. “Good.”

“Yeah?” Hank pushes his hair away from his forehead, smiling wide. “Me too.” Connor is quiet for a long time, and Hank starts to wonder if he fell asleep, his breathing growing steady. Hank sits up a bit to kiss the top of his head, but Connor turns, meeting Hank’s lips with his own. 

Every kiss brings that soft hum from Connor’s lips, and it makes Hank’s heart soar. A small, contented huff of breath, ghosting over Hank’s lips. Hank runs his hands under Connor’s shirt, pressing his fingers against each notch of his spine. Connor’s lips brush Hank’s jawline, rustling the hair of his beard and making him shiver. 

Then, he’s gone, on his back beside Hank. Hank, taking the hint, rolls to loom over him, smiling down at him with lidded eyes. 

Connor is beautiful. Especially so, without the extravagant makeup. It took Hank awhile to realize, originally pinning Connor as goofy and gangly. Now, like this, Hank knows that Connor is gorgeous, and there’s no denying it. Warm brown eyes, pale skin, a scattering of moles and freckles, dotting his complexion like stars, constellations. 

He smiles, dimples prominent. 

Hank is incredibly lucky.

Slowly, Hank undresses him, taking time to admire the outline of his rib cage, the curve of his toned biceps. He struggles with Connor’s jeans, peeling them away and pressing kisses to every visible inch of pale skin. His legs are long, devastatingly beautiful. Strong and muscled from years of gymnastics, but still delicate, fragile. It’s like if Hank moves too quickly, Connor could shatter.

Hank knows that’s not true. Connor is probably stronger than even Hank is. Still, Hank is careful, sliding blue boxers down his bony hips with agonizing slowness, letting his lips find each new freckle. Time seems to stop as Hank explores Connor’s body this way, figuring out where to touch and where he should avoid. Connor is ticklish behind his knees, huffing a short breath of air as Hank drags he fingers against them. 

Smirking, Hank presses again, making Connor squirm. He laughs, moving up to kiss Connor’s lips, soft, warm, welcoming as ever. A quick apology for teasing him that way, making sure he knows that Hank is only testing out what he can handle. Connor rolls his eyes, playfully pushing his knee between Hank’s thighs. “Let me see you.”

Pressing another kiss on the corner of Connor’s mouth, Hank sits upright to pull his sweater off over his head, tossing it to the floor with the rest of Connor’s clothes. Connor’s fingers tangle themselves in the hair on Hank’s chest as he palms Hank’s faded tattoo, his expression soft, calm. Hank has to lean down to untie his sneakers before he can take them off, laughing when Connor’s fingers trail his side. Hank’s ticklish, too.

He pulls off his jeans, his boxers, climbing back over Connor and kissing the nape of his neck, enjoying the heat from his breath on Hank’s own neck. Connor whispers something, followed by a bit of Russian. Hank sighs. “Con, you’re great, I really like you, but you  _ gotta _ stop saying things in a language I can’t understand.”

“You don’t like?”

“It’s sexy, sure, but I have no idea what you’re saying.” Hank runs his hands down Connor’s ribs again. “I have anxiety. I keep worrying that you’re saying negative things.”

Connor gasps, hands trailing against Hank’s stomach. “I would never.” He exhales, breath hot on Hank’s skin. “I said I’ve never done this.”

“Done what?”

“This,” Connor pushes his tongue past Hank’s teeth, letting Hank catch on.  _ Oh. This.  _ He pulls back, the mattress already making his hair stick up in all directions. “Is that okay?”

Smiling, Hank lets his hands trace the outline of Connor’s face, still mesmerized by the sight of him. “Of course.” 

Hank is careful, even more so. Like Connor is a precious jewel, a priceless artifact, something Hank feels the urge to protect him, to keep him safe. He doesn’t know if he would ever forgive himself if something happened to Connor, and he’s definitely going to restrain from hurting him. 

Connor’s legs fall open with such grace, Hank barely even registers the change. He runs his hands down the insides of Connor’s thighs, grazing his skin before sinking a finger inside of him, listening to the soft moan falling from his pretty lips. 

It’s like a dream, though it’s much softer than any of Hank’s fantasies. He thinks back to when he used to dream about being with Connor, making him twist in ways that should be inhuman, making him scream, beg for more.

This is better. Connor’s soft panting, huffed breaths in between soft moans. 

Hank thought that he would want to hold onto Connor’s tattoo, thumbs digging into his back. He can’t see it like this, and it’s okay. Hank can see Connor’s face like this, and that’s all he ever wants. To watch Connor’s expression as Hank sinks another finger, his mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut, is euphoric. Beautiful.

Lucky. Hank is so lucky.

Connor’s hands are fisted in the sheets, holding tight. His back arches off the mattress, pressing his torso against Hank’s stomach. Hank lets his other arm wrap underneath him, holding him upright. Slowly, Hank curls his fingers, shutting his eyes to listen to the moan Connor lets out. It’s long, breathy. 

Perfect. Connor is perfect.

It takes a while for Hank to get Connor ready for him, fingers working diligently to get the job done at a pace Connor can grow used to. He holds onto Hank’s shoulders once Hank withdraws his fingers, legs shaking. Smiling, Connor pulls Hank down for a soft kiss, slow, warm. He whispers something that Hank can’t hear, and Hank pauses, running his hand down Connor’s open legs. 

“Con,” Connor shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. “Connor, please talk to me.”

Connor bites his lip, repeating what he said, louder. Hank doesn’t understand it, frowning, but patient. It’ll take Connor a second to work up the courage to repeat himself in English. His eyes are still shut, hands relaxed on Hank’s shoulders. Hank angles his hips, propping Connor up so he can position himself between Connor’s legs, slowly pushing inside.

It’s warm. Connor sighs longingly, his moans turning into soft whimpers, whispering the same thing in Russian. Hank can feel the sweat on his own forehead, and he reaches up to wipe it off before returning his thumbs to Connor’s hip bones, pressing against them softly.

His hips meet Connor’s skin, and they pause, breathing in heavy unison. Connor keeps his eyes shut, repeating himself over and over before finally deciding to say it so Hank can understand.

“I love you.”

Hank’s breath hitches, and he rolls his hips softly, relaxing at the sound of Connor’s gasp, leaning down to kiss his collar bone. He keeps the soft pace, letting Connor scratch at his back, pull on his hair. Connor moves his hands to Hank’s face, holding him in place so their eyes are level, his face red and splotchy. Hank presses his forehead against Connor’s, exhaling a soft laugh. “I love you, too.”

Life is funny. Hank doesn’t know what the plan is, or how they’re going to live from now on, but as Connor whispers soft praises into his ear, he knows that they’ll be okay, as long as they have each other. 

Connor gets out bed once they finish, and Hank is confused until he shuts the light off, setting something on the nightstand and worming underneath the covers and wrapping his arms around Hank’s chest. Hank presses a kiss to the top of his head, smiling wide. 

He grabbed the night light.

Hank falls asleep next to the person he loves, who loves him, underneath thousands of holographic stars. 

He feels safe. Warm. Loved.

Happy.


End file.
